All Aboard
by JaneDoh
Summary: Sometimes making a decision isn't the hardest part but finding the right way to tell someone else just may be. DoggettReyes


**Title:** All Aboard

**Author:** JaneDoh

**Disclaimer:** Does anything even need to be said here? I mean, duh, it is FANfiction.

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Her mind was still in debate whether this was the best way to tell him as she stood on his doorstep, staring absently at her feet. She had mixed feelings about the implications; she had never expected that she would be having to make this decision so soon. The reverie was broken as a low rumble of thunder rolled across the night sky.

_How appropriate, _she thought sarcastically.

She could feel the heat emanating from the back of her neck, trapped underneath her dark locks and making her feel slightly dizzy so she lifted her hair away from her collar, letting the cool breeze push away the warmth, and hopefully some of her doubts along with it. She took a deep breath; it couldn't be put off, she had to confront him with the news.

Tonight.

She let her hair drop back down and ran her fingers through it, as though it would magically straighten the inevitable frizz that occurred in the humidity, before surveying her shirt and carefully smoothing it with her hands until she looked half-presentable.

_Stop stalling,_ she scolded herself. So she knocked.

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John glanced at the door, sure that he had heard something above the sound of the radio. He waited, then shrugged, apparently mistaken. He went back to his current task: attempting to decipher the recipe. He was used to following instructions all day at his job, so why should this be any different? He was just about to start boiling the pasta when he heard the noise again - yes, definitely this time - even though the soft tap was barely discernable. He made his way to the door, opening it to an image of Monica standing there with an unsure smile, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Going deaf in your old age?" she queried in an attempt to at least begin their meeting in a light-hearted manner, although John could immediately tell she wasn't in a jovial mood.

He disregarded her attempt at humour. Normally Monica would just about have dented the door with her knock, or let herself in with the spare key. Something was not right. "What's goin' on, Monica?"

She hesitated, then a controlled breath escaped her lips before she started speaking. "Things are going to have to change, John." Her soulful eyes hinted that there was a lot more to follow. A wave of alarm went through him; why was she talking about things having to change? The last six months of his life since they had been together - _really_ together - were the best he could remember, apart from the days when Barbara, Luke and he were still a happy family. For years after he had lost the stability and normality of a family life, days and months just seemed to merge endlessly. And then Monica had walked back into his life, and even though the first eight months of their encounters were purely professional, she still managed to brighten each day. He felt upset when he saw the indecision in her eyes, concerned at how vulnerable she looked standing on his porch with the darkness of the coming storm framing her features.

"Come here, Mon," he said invitingly. He let go of the door frame and started to move towards her, planning to pull her into a supportive embrace in the hope it would make whatever she was about to say easier for both of them. But he was cut short as she put her hands up between them, her palms facing him, indicating that he should stop.

"Just wait until you hear what I have to say." John froze briefly, unsure of where things were headed. He couldn't hide the slightly hurt look, but moved back until he was behind the threshold and rested against the door, giving Monica a clear path inside, if that was what she wanted. She was breathing a little deeper than before, willing her courage to continue with what she had decided to do; she only wanted to make sure that he was aware of what was going on.

She walked over to the couch and sat at one end, waiting for John to follow. He was still leaning against the door, as though he needed its support for the coming revelation. He looked at her with worry in his eyes, then slowly closed the door, facing it rather than her. He stood motionless for a few moments after the lock clicked, preparing himself for whatever she was about to say, then reluctantly turned and made his way to the other end of the couch. He didn't say anything - it was up to her to make the next move.

"I'm transferring." Her harsh statement hit him with full force. John could feel the colour draining from his face while she stared at her hands, unable to look at him directly.

"What?" It was the best he could manage to convey his disbelief.

She slowly turned to him, giving him an almost imperceptible nod, confirming he had heard her correctly. She knew the statement had taken him by surprise, but she had her reasons. She watched the turmoil in his eyes as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. "Only to another department," she continued, as though it was going to make him feel any better. "I mean, I'm not moving to another city or anything."

Confusion clouded his features as he tried to comprehend what she had just said. "Has the last six months of your life been that terrible?" he slowly spat out; the pain her words had caused him were evident in his tone. She could see in his body-language that he was pleading for her reasoning, hopeful that it wasn't because she regretted the way their relationship had developed. She hated the fact that he was interpreting what she was saying as though it was his fault. She just needed time to explain that it wasn't because she was trying to distance herself from him; it was actually the exact opposite.

"Don't make me say 'I love you' John, because you know I do." She was right. During the time they had been together - in all the moments they had shared - they had never said they loved each other.

Because they didn't need to.

He shifted uneasily in his seat, feeling guilty that she had been forced to defend herself, but he still needed a worthy explanation. "Then why are you doin' this?"

"Because people are going to start noticing that there is something going on between us," she stated, somewhat regretfully. "And I don't want one of us to be involuntarily transferred because we are partners that just happen to be sleeping together." She sighed before continuing. "It's the only way we can stay together...I mean, outside of work."

"But Mon," he began, his brow furrowed in concern, "you are the drivin' force behind the X-Files now that Mulder and Dana aren't here. It's where you are meant to be." He seemed agitated, trapped in a no-win situation.

"You know how much the X-Files means to me," she told him earnestly. "But you mean more."

He pondered her statement for a while, before coming to a conclusion. Not that it was really a good one either, but he thought it was slightly more reasonable than hers. "Then let me transfer. I have skills in other areas...I could move to the Violent Crimes Section..." he trailed off as his mind balked at the idea of having to work anywhere else; being part of the X-Files team was the most interesting job he had ever had.

She gave him a look of exasperation. How had they managed to get themselves in this situation? They were screwed - in more ways than one.

"Look." He tried to rationalise a plan, even if it only bought them a bit of time. "Why don't we just carry on as we are, and make a decision only if we are forced to?" He looked so hopeful in that moment that she felt terrible for having to bring up the issue at all. He gave her a reassuring smile and moved towards her. She knew that he was trying to convince her that they could attempt to have the best of both worlds, but he just didn't understand her underlying reason. He put his hand out to wrap around her waist but she intercepted it with her own, entwining their fingers.

She gave him a sad smile as she shook her head. "We can try." She wished his plan was going to work, but she knew it was destined to fail. "But we do work for the Federal Bureau of _Investigation_. They are going to work it out - and it will be sooner rather than later." He let go of her fingers and moved his hand up to her neck, stroking behind her ear as he started to kiss her, hoping his actions could dissolve her thoughts.

And it was working.

Even if it was just to forgo the inevitable for a little longer, she was happy to agree for the time-being. "Okay," she yielded, yet her tone implied that she knew she was right. John felt his tension ebbing away, unaware that what she had so far revealed was only a prelude. He rested his forehead against hers, trying to see in her eyes if there was anything else hidden there, but she kept them closed. His hand remained behind her neck as he pulled back slightly, until her dark eyes slowly opened when she sensed the distance between them growing.

He searched her face for any clues to her true feelings, but found it difficult to read her expression. He tilted his head slightly, giving her an encouraging smile. "What ya thinkin' about now, Mon?" The devotion in his eyes confirmed her belief that their bond could only get stronger.

She grabbed him by the collar to pull him closer. Although it wasn't a verbal answer to his question, John was more than happy with Monica's response. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of her lips moving against his. The soft touch of his fingers made the hairs on her neck tingle, urging her to continue. She started unbuttoning his shirt, allowing her finger-tips to explore the body hidden underneath, content in the knowledge that it was a sure way to have him mirror her actions, which he promptly did; it was going to work out just as she had planned.

"So, how can you be so sure everyone will find out about us?" he murmured between kisses, his hands diligently making progress. "We have managed pretty well so far."

"Trust me, John," she told him, wondering if he could feel her smile as his hands undid her last button. "Its going to be obvious soon enough."

His lips pulled away from hers as his hands brushed over a piece of plastic that was stuck to her abdomen with duct tape. He had an expression of confusion as he slowly pulled the diamond-shaped sign away and read the inscription: Baby on Board. He looked up in disbelief to the sight of Monica biting her bottom lip in a mixture of nervousness and excitement as she awaited his response. He looked down at the sign, then back at her again before dropping it on the floor, freeing both hands to caress her face as he offered her his most heartfelt kiss.

"Told you," she mumbled, her lips unwilling to break from his. "They are going to work it out."

"Well," he said through his smile, as he placed one palm on her stomach, even though it was too early for a bump to appear, "hopefully we still got a couple of months."

_Yeah,_ she thought as she continued with her kisses, comforted by the feeling of his hand covering her belly protectively, _definitely the best way to tell him._

END.


End file.
